


Outside in the Cold Distance

by Jennie_D



Category: Watchmen (TV), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21702826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennie_D/pseuds/Jennie_D
Summary: Wade believed, once. Believed in God's love, God's mercy, in God's plan for all things.Then, in a single moment, that was all torn away.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

November 2, 1985

* * *

No one came for hours. 

A small group of the living sat huddled by the bumper cars, mute. 

An old woman was pulling at her hair, whispering. A bald man was rocking, back and forth, blood still dripping from his ears. Wade was clutching at his bare arms, feeling the sting of pain under his nails.

They weren’t talking to each other. He didn’t know why they weren’t talking to each other. 

Occasionally he heard shouting. He wasn’t sure if it was him or someone else.

The wind vibrated and stung in his ears.

He looked at his knees, clutched up to his chest. He couldn’t look beyond them. 

He didn’t want to look out at Armageddon. 

None of the people he’d traveled with were huddled among the survivors. Not Lucas or Mark or Elder John. Nobody. 

Maybe they were somewhere else. Maybe they’d all been taken peacefully, evaporated, claimed by Christ’s light and gone from this world. Part of the flock anointed into heavenly light.

Maybe he’d been left behind, not killed in hellfire like lifelong sinners, but left behind in earthen purgatory. Because in those last crucial moments, he’d failed the final temptation.

But...he hadn’t just seen the sinner girl and her friends and others who’d spat venom at him on the ground. There were children, young children, lying dead too.

He didn’t know what this felt like. But it didn’t feel Godly. 

A man next to him was whispering “help me” over and over and over again.

Wade moved his hands up to clutch at his hair. There was a sting of pain.

He flinched. Slowly brought his hands before his eyes. 

An inch long piece of mirror glass was sticking out of his thumb.

The sun was rising, sky turning pink and orange, long light illuminating carnage in full color. 

There was a whirring somewhere, humming, vibrating, louder and louder. 

They all flinched, curled into themselves, hid from the noise, the pain.

There were voices. Hands pulling at him. He cried, pushed them away.

Uniformed men were taking him by the shoulders, guiding him somewhere. 

He’d never had a chance to put his clothes back on.

Wade looked up. 

A solider was talking to a silent, bloody man with knotted hair.

One of the sinners who had told him to fuck off. Right before the world went to hell. 

Alive.

Wade tripped over something. He looked down.

Elder John lay dead at his feet.


	2. Chapter 2

March 7, 2004

* * *

He’d spent the whole week psyching himself up for this date. Carly said the girl was nice, fun, normal. He told himself over and over that it would be fine, that she wouldn’t pull any weird shit on him.

Then the night arrived, he managed to show up at her door, drive her to the restaurant, act sort of marginally charming. It was actually going fine. 

Until she invited him to fucking Bible study. 

He hadn’t even said anything in response, but he must of rolled his eyes or something, because she was all pissed off and they were arguing and she was gripping the stem of her wine glass too hard.

“What’s wrong with a little Godliness in life, hmm? Some of us are trying to get into heaven.”

Her eyes had gotten cold. Fast.

It’d be nice if there was one fucking woman his age in Tulsa who didn’t end up being a damn evangelical.

In hindsight, the giant silver cross around her neck should have been a fucking clue.

He tried to be as conciliatory as possible. “Look, it’s fine for some people, just not something I’m personally interested in.”

“How can you not be interested in eternal salvation?”

Wade sighed. “I’m just not. Now, do you want to order or not?”

“I don’t really see the point in continuing a date with someone who has no interest in saving their immortal soul.”

Yeah, this wasn’t going anywhere. “Well, sorry to have wasted your time then. Don’t worry about the drinks, I’ll still pay.”

He was hoping flatly declaring the date was over would head off a lecture. 

It did not.

“I wish Carly had me she was setting me up with a sinner,” she spat. 

The word itched something ugly at the back of Wade’s mind. 

He bit his tongue to keep from speaking.

His date didn’t have the same courtesy.

“I mean what, are you just too stupid to care that you're go to hell? How can you not even care?”

“Because I’m a grown ass man,” Wade growled. “And I don’t have time for fucking fairytales when there’s real shit in the world.”

He’d said it too loudly. Other tables were looking at them.

She was shouting back, something about Christ and heaven and salvation.

He was done with this.

Wade got up to see if he could just pay at the bar.


	3. Chapter 3

December 15, 1985

* * *

They wanted him to speak at a service when he got home.

He was the only survivor of that mission trip to New Jersey. They wanted to commend him, listen to his tale of bravery, of going into a pit of hell and coming out alive.

Momma was so proud of him. Said he’d faced his first true trial as a man of God.

He tried to tell her that he’d sinned right before the incident, that he didn’t deserve to be alive when Elder John and all the others were dead.

She didn’t listen.

He and Momma and Daddy came in an hour before the service started, so everyone could tell Wade where to stand and what to do and what to say.

They were all so nice when he came in. Called him a hero and said he was brave and offered him sweet tea.

He was sitting in a quiet back room to wait for a minute while the adults sorted a few things out. It was full of old hymnals and crafting supplies and crucifixes made of popsicle sticks.

And...and…

His heart stopped when he saw it. The little pamphlet taking about armageddon and redemption and paradise. With two friendly little pandas on the cover.

The pamphlets they’d all been told to distribute right before...

It was hard to catch his breath. The world was going sideways.

He tried to turn away, but there was another stack of them over there. He turned and turned and turned again, but they were everywhere, staring at him, thousands of little panda eyes.

He could see flashing carnival lights and hear that strange groan of pain and glass was breaking all around him as the world tore in half.

Wade could feel the blood dripping out of his ears.

He screamed and screamed and screamed again. Screamed and spit and tore and punched at whoever, whatever got near him.

He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, not when he felt the world ending underneath him.

When Wade finally came back to himself, he was at home. His dad looking scared in the corner.

Momma just looked disappointed.

Apparently he’d been asked to never come back to church.


	4. Chapter 4

June 17, 2010

* * *

“So you don’t want to get married in a church?”

Wade fidgeted with his sleeves, eyes downcast.

“I...I know that might be disappointing and I’m really really sorry. Truly I am. But I can’t. I’m not comfortable with it. I just can’t.”

“Okay.”

“I know this might be a - ” Wade looked up. Cynthia was smiling at him. “You said okay?”

“I did.”

“Like...okay, okay?”

She took his hand.

“Wade, I would marry you in a fucking Chuck E. Cheese if you really wanted. If you don’t want to get married in a church, we won’t get married in a church.”

He was lost in grateful disbelief. “Thank you. Thank you so much, I’ll make it up to you with something else.”

She grinned at him. “Don’t worry about it. One semi awkward conversation with my parents is more than worth getting to spend my life with you.”

Wade had never been more certain that Cynthia was the one. As he kissed her, he thought maybe, finally, things would be alright.


	5. Chapter 5

May 20, 1986

* * *

Cold beefaroni straight from the can wasn’t exactly appealing. 

But it was more appealing than eating dinner with whoever momma had invited over.

She was doing that a lot these days. It seemed like most weeknights she had three or four people come by; they’d bring over side dishes or cookies in tupperware and he’d listen to them visit and chat and laugh from his room upstairs.

They were from church of course. Everybody they knew was from church.

He suspected this was all a ploy to draw him out, get him to be social. Wade knew his parents were worried, worried about how quiet he’d gotten, worried about how he never went anywhere or talked to everyone.

“Why don’t you come on out to the church picnic with us? Why don’t you try to take Mr. Simon’s girl out? Why not head out to the movies with your friends?”

As if they’d forgotten that people from church all looked at him sideways after he got banned from services. As if they’d forgotten he couldn’t so much as look at a girl without thinking of that night. As if they’d forgotten most of his friends had bled out pointlessly in New Jersey.

He could tell they were getting a little desperate. Daddy had mentioned sending him to public school for the first time in his life. 

Wade was pretty sure Momma wouldn’t go for it. She’d always maintained that secular government taught teachers were wicked and you could only achieve proper Godly instruction through homeschooling. But when Daddy brought it up, she’d smiled through gritted teeth and called it a “decent option.”

He’d even heard them argue about therapy when they thought he was asleep. Had found pamphlets in the trash for “Extradimensional Recovery Counseling.”

He felt guilty. Guilty for being useless, for being silent, for worrying his parents.

It didn’t feel good spending all his time alone in his room. Reading every article he could get his hands on about the incident in New York over and over. 

But it felt worse to talk to people who didn’t _know._ Didn’t understand. Jawing about town gossip or television or the weather, every moment being terrified it all would happen again and he’d be left staring at a room full of corpses.

Last week he’d read a bunch of baby squid rained on Sao Paulo. Authorities weren’t sure if the tiny beasts had caused any deaths or psychic distress. Aside from car accidents, a helicopter crash, and some panicked suicides. 

Wade brought his bare knees up to his chest, hugging himself in the dark.

He was hungry. 

And he had no more full cans in his room. He’d have to find a moment to sneak to the kitchen soon, grab a can of beefaroni to eat before people came over. 

He stood and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Listened carefully at the door.

The shower was going, and he could hear someone walking out to the garage. Momma was probably getting ready, daddy was probably getting something out of the car. He’d have just a few minutes to rush to the kitchen after that garage door opened.

He listened, waited, listened. He just needed to hear that distinctive door squeak...there!

Wade bolted from his room. 

In thirty seconds flat, he’d made it to the kitchen. He tore open the cabinet next to the fridge, grabbed a pair of cans and - 

“There you are sweetheart!”

_Fuck._

Momma was walking into the kitchen, smiling, hair all wrapped up in a bath towel.

“Listen, go take a shower and put on the clothes I laid out for you in the bathroom. James and Ruth Scott are coming by tonight, and I want you to look your best.”

She looked so excited. Wade ducked his head.

“Momma, I’m not really feeling-”

“I know sweetheart, you’re not feeling well. But the Scotts don’t just visit anybody Wade! And they’re coming specifically to wish you well, least you can do is say hello. They’ll be here in an hour. After you’ve gotten dressed, help me set the table. Get going now.”

Wade trudged off toward the shower, trying to stave off the panicky feelings rising in his chest.

* * *

  
  


Momma had gone all out tonight. She’d laid down a tablecloth and they were using the good china. She’d even made cinnamon chocolate melt cake for desert.

Wade pulled at his stiff collared shirt as the Scotts came through the door with excited greetings. There were smiles and hugs, and he tried to return them as normally as possible. 

“How are you Wade?”

“Good sir.”

“Oh you’re getting so tall!”

“Thank you ma’am.”

There was cheerful conversation and cooing over recipes and talk about how the Cowboys would do next season. He tried to keep up with it all, speak when spoken to.

It seemed to drag on for hours.

Finally they were sitting around the table. Daddy asked them to all hold hands for grace. 

He took the hands of Momma and Mrs. Scott, hoping his palms weren’t too sweaty. Bowed his head and prepared to listen.

Then Mr. Scott’s booming voice rang over the table.

“Tillman, I think your boy here should say the grace tonight. After all, this young man will be leading his own household someday soon.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea honey!”

“My Wade is becoming such a nice young man.”

“Alright then, take it away son.”

They were all looking at him. 

The silence hung a minute too long.

His mouth was dry.

Wade looked down, cleared his throat. Mumbled the prayer to the floor.

“We ask that you bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, our bodies to your service in Jesus name, Amen.”

He practically tore his hands back to himself, trying not to focus on everyone’s cheery responses.

“What a lovely grace sweatheart.” 

“You’re really growing up into a man. I’ll have to invite our niece Abigayl over here next time.”

“With a prayer like that, I hope to see you back at church soon, Wade.”

Wade looked up.

“I’m not allowed on the premises anymore Mr. Scott.”

Momma’s smile froze a bit.

“Because I screamed and punched Mr. Hart in the face.”

Mr. Scott waved a dismissive hand. “A temporary misunderstanding, boy. We’ll get you back in there soon enough.”

“Besides,” Mrs. Scott jumped in. “It’s understandable after all you’ve been through. You must thank God every day that you survived that ordeal.”

Daddy nervously glanced over at Wade, tried to change the topic. 

“These mashed potatoes are amazing, just amazing Ruth. You know, I think you’re the best cook in the county.”

“Oh thank you. Just a God given talent. My grandma had it, my mother had it, and so do I. I only wish my daughter was blessed with the gift. Mary’s husband says her casseroles are like cement mix.”

Momma laughed, looked relieved. 

But Mr. Scott was still looking at Wade intently.

“Boy, I’ve gotta say,” he started. “I know it must have been awful to see. But I almost envy you.”

Wade’s hand clenched tight around his fork.

“Want some corn, James?”

“Give it a second Tillman, I want to talk to your boy. He witnessed one of the greatest events of this century. He witnessed proof, true proof, that the Lord exists and is going to cleanse this world of sin.”

His ears were ringing, his heart beating too fast. 

_Don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say -_

Momma cleared her throat.

“James, perhaps this isn’t the right time-”

“Oh, let my husband ask,” Mrs. Scott replied. “I must admit I’m curious too. True biblical justice, like Sodom and Gomorrah. I almost wish I’d been there myself. To feel God’s hand come down, to see Him sweep the sinners away.”

On the carpeted floor, Wade could see Elder John's blood pooling at his feet.

He couldn't stay silent.

“Twenty seven people from our church died too," Wade spat. "Even some elders.”

Mr. Scott looked almost insulted. “We haven’t forgotten -”

“There were kids who died,” Wade continued. “Little kids. Were they sinners?”

Mr. Scott sniffed, his face going a little pink.

“I don’t presume to know the details of His plan. But I know you survived to spread His Word, boy. And you need to step up to that responsibility.”

Wade's fork clattered onto his plate.

“If New York was God punishing sinners, I should be dead too. You know what I was doing right before the incident?”

Momma’s face had gone white.

“Wade sweetheart, why don’t you head to your room for a minute.”

“A girl took all my clothes off and said she’d fuck me.”

“Wade!”

“And I was going to let her. I wanted to. I couldn’t fucking wait.”

“Go to your room Wade!”

“And then the world got tore apart and good people died for no reason. If it was God’s justice, I’d be gone and Lucas or Elijah or fucking Elder John would be sitting here. It wasn’t God.”

The food lay untouched in front of them. Mrs. Scott looked pale. Mr. Scott’s face was slowly, reddening, building up to a scream.

Wade didn’t want to be there to hear it.

He stood, threw his fancy lace napkin on the tablecloth. 

“It wasn’t God,” he repeated. “Hell, I’m pretty sure God’s not even real.”

Wade turned toward the kitchen, grabbed a can of cold beans to eat in the dark.


	6. Chapter 6

September 10, 2012

* * *

Wade didn’t exactly love that the support group met at a church. 

They’d tried other locations. They started out in a library study room, but quickly outgrew the room’s capacity. For a while, Lorraine got them a room in the heritage center, but then the center started to crack down on “unrelated business.”

So they found themselves in St. Bernard’s, about 15 miles outside Tulsa city limits. Like it or not, Wade had to admit that churches sat a lot of people for not a lot of money. Cheap meeting space was hard to come by.

St. B’s usually rented out rooms at cost, but they let the support group take the chapel for free. Because Jaime, the church's pastor, was a member of their group.

Wade usually didn’t mind. The church was much more, for lack of a better term, relaxed than the one he’d grown up in. There was a big rainbow flag out front and a promise posted on the door to take in any people who needed help. And Pastor Jaime never stepped on any toes in group. Didn't preach at anyone. He’d listen to their stories, cry with them. Would smile and laugh after group was over, help lighten the mood so people could drive back sound to their lives. If he held any godly judgement, he didn’t speak it.

But sometimes Wade’s eyes would linger on the crucifix up on the wall. And that ugly thing in his mind would itch.

Because Jaime had been there on 11/2. Had been nine years old, on his first big vacation with his momma and daddy. Had been on the top of the Empire State Building, had his young eyes fixed on the whole horrible thing. Had felt the psychic remnants for over 36 hours while rescue crews struggled to reach him.

And Wade would listen to him tell this story, see the horror light in his eyes.

And Wade would remember harsh carnival lights and mirror glass and blood spilling from his ears.

And then, Wade would wonder.

Once Jaime shared that he hadn’t been religious at all before 11/2. His family didn’t even go to church. He “found God’s light” himself, long after he'd grown up.

How could that be? How could you witness something so horrible and _find_ belief, rather than have it torn from you?

Wade figured it was probably a coping mechanism. He’d been leading support groups long enough to learn everyone dealt psychic shock different ways.

But other days that itchy whisper would pick up in the back of his mind.

He'd wonder if the despair he felt, the dead certainty that the universe held nothing but horror, meant that something was terribly wrong with him.

That he wasn’t healing, wasn’t moving forward. Was broken.

Some days Wade would just stare at Jaime in his stiff priest’s collar, trying to work up the courage to ask him. Ask him why, after everything, he still believed.

He never found it.


End file.
